Peering through the mist

A meditation on the fogs of faith

The mark of an enquiring mind is that it never stops asking questions. And the more questions it asks, it discovers the less it really knows. But the mind that stops asking questions ceases to grow. Physiologically, a human brain that is not exercised tends to shrivel more with age than one which is given regular fresh focus.

John Betjeman’s scathing (and unfair) indictment of the inhabitants of war-time Slough serves as a more general, cynical indictment of mental as well as physical complacency that never reaches beyond the everyday realm of getting and spending:

“Tinned fruit, tinned meat, tinned milk, tinned beans

Tinned minds, tinned breath”.

He adds the patronising caveat that

“It’s not their fault they do not know

The birdsong from the radio”

because they are people, he suggests,

“who daren’t look up and see the stars

But belch instead”.¹

There is, however, a downside to listening to birdsong, looking up at the stars and asking profound questions. In matters of the spirit, we prefer our faith and our religion to be clear and certain. In one, limited sense, ignorance is bliss. Questions challenge former certainties. They threaten to confuse and complicate simple understandings. They can disturb our mental, emotional and spiritual equilibrium. From travelling on through clear daylight with stunning views, as it were, we find we have been enveloped in a fog in which everything becomes hazy.

Yet according to one biblical writer, that is how it often is, and it’s not necessarily a sign of spiritual decline, but a stage in spiritual growth.

The well-known opening words of the otherwise lesser-known and often misunderstood biblical book of Ecclesiastes, are “Vanity of vanities! All is vanity!” or “Meaningless! Utterly meaningless! Everything is meaningless!” They and the author’s original intention are variously interpreted but the word for “vanity” or “meaningless” means literally “vapour” or “mist”. The author is saying, “Everything is misty! It’s all utterly foggy!” And that such a state is not the end of the world.

Fog can stimulate faith

The point is that mist comes and goes. Life is ephemeral. James said the same in the New Testament: “You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes” (4:14). We prefer not to think about it. It threatens our self-sufficiency.

It’s easy to get lost in fog. The author, like many people, is groping his way through the disorienting social, cultural and religious smog of his time. Ecclesiastes (3:11) knows that God “has set eternity in the human heart; yet no-one can fathom what God has done from beginning to end”. The author is frustrated by human limitations that cannot perceive more than indistinct shadows of God’s presence. But he presses on through the fog in his quest. Many just give up. Some never venture out at all.

Mist also transforms landscapes, and swaddles them in mystery. Sir Nigel Thompson, former Chair of the Council for the Preservation of Rural England, has written: “Mist is like a universal corrector in the way it veils the imperfections of the middle ground. It softens sharp edges and disguises the influence of man – it puts nature on show.”²

Perhaps the opaque intellectual and spiritual clouds that obscure the frazzling presence of Almighty God are a similar corrector. They diffuse blindingly incomprehensible truths into a gentler awareness that lacks detail. Maybe, too, they can soften our sharp assumptions about life, people and God. There are mysteries beyond our narrow horizon. The ways of God cannot be reduced to neat formulae. We walk by faith, not by sight. 

When mist falls, a hush descends. Birds cease their song. Traffic noise is muffled. Familiar scenes become vague shapes. Distances seem lengthened. Time passes slowly. An awesome, echoing silence as in a lofty cathedral spreads over the land. It’s as if the earth pauses to worship its creator. “God is in heaven and you are on earth, so let your words be few,” cautions Ecclesiastes 5:2.

I grew up on the Kent coast, where sea and sky merge as fog blankets the Straits of Dover. Stressful as such conditions were for navigators in the crowded shipping lanes, on land they brought a quiet peace that was broken by the South Goodwin lightship’s foghorn offshore. It was a comforting sound. Someone was there in the gloom, keeping watch, warning of danger. It was a guiding grunt when the kindly light could no longer penetrate the dense, chilling fog, reminiscent of Isaiah’s assurance: “Whether you turn to the right or the left, you will hear a voice behind you saying, ‘This is the way; walk in it’” (Isaiah 30:21).

Moses heard God’s commandments thunder through the swirling clouds on Sinai (Deuteronomy 5:22). Elijah caught God’s whisper on the hazy heights of Horeb when the earthquake, wind and fire failed to reveal the divine presence (1 Kings 19:8-18). And enveloped in sudden fog on the Mount of Transfiguration three disciples were surprised by an unseen voice advising them to listen to Jesus (Mark 9:2-8).

There can be hints of hope, echoes of eternity, even in the temporal mists of doubt and the tantalising clouds of unknowing. One day “the sun of righteousness” (Malachi 4:2) will dispel the mist, and “we shall know fully, even as we are fully known” (1 Corinthians 13:12). Meanwhile, as St Paul resolved, we can “strain towards what is ahead” (Philippians 3:13f.), even though we can’t see clearly what is there, because it is beyond our comprehension.

Think and talk

1.  Why don’t people share more openly the mysteries of faith that puzzle them? Might honesty be a better form of mission than ignoring or skating over the imponderable questions?
2.  Where does the fog linger in your faith and understanding?
3.  How might we maintain a balance between continuing to trust and follow God, to hold fast to what we do know, yet remain open to discovering new dimensions to our faith and understanding?

References

1. John Betjeman, “Slough”, John Betjeman’s collected poems, John Murray 1970 edition, pp.22f.
2.  Nigel Thompson, “Poetry in Motion”, in ed. Bill Bryson, Icons of England, Black Swan 2010, p.319.

The big questions of life and Ecclesiastes’ surprising answers will feature in future blogs.

© Derek Williams 2018